


Concentric

by NeverComingHome



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 17:56:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3578640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverComingHome/pseuds/NeverComingHome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Falling for Michaela is like putting a treadmill in front of a map and trying to run around the world. It's stupid and pointless, but it feels like she's getting somewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concentric

“You've got something on your face.”

“What?” Michaela shifts the bottle to her other hand and tries to get a look at herself in the silver hinges of Laurel's door.

“Egg.”

“Egg?” It takes her a moment and then she rolls her eyes. “You're so lame.”

“I'm not the one drunk on my classmate's doorstep.”

“So let me be drunk in your living room instead.”

Laurel doesn't search for a blanket to drape over Michaela's shoulders or sit beside her with a cup of tea and kind words; she throws a pillow on the couch then falls unceremoniously back to sleep in the comfort of her own bed. The next morning she finds an empty bottle of vodka and a post it with a smiley face on it with the words 'see you in class'.

~*~  
They're both single, neurotic and obsessed with high test scores so they put their heads together while the boys flick pencils at each other and argue over minutiae. They way they carry on it's almost like they were never covered in dirt, shout whispering about murder.

“I looked up your family.”

At the table behind them Connor begins to sing “Folsom Prison Blues” beneath his breath and ignore the kicks Wes directs at his chair leg.

“Why?” Laurel asks, not looking up from her own book.

Michaela shrugs. “Curiosity. You're pretty well connected, who knew.”

“I don't like to brag.”

“You don't even really need to be here, though, I bet you're the only one of us who could get away with coasting on your name for the rest of your life.”

“That's not what I want.”

Connor puts his lips to Wes's ear and sings, “Well someone choked a girl in Philly just to watch her die, when-”

Asher swears as he's knocked from his chair from the force with which Wes shoves Connor into him, drawing Laurel and Michaela over to pacify the trio. They handle it like they've handled every squabble since 'that night' and end up at some club doing shots until they forget they're bonded only by death and academia. Laurel puts her warm forehead on Michaela's cold shoulder and asks if she should leave her door unlocked tonight. Michaela takes a measured sip from her glass and says that if someone knows they're cracking up they can't be in that bad of shape.

“Right?”

“I think that's like asking if a schizophrenic is any less schizophrenic because they know they're schizophrenic.”

“Say schizophrenic again.”

“You can talk to me, you know, I'm here for you.”

“And why is that? Afraid I'll freak and ruin everything?”

“Yes,” she responds without thinking, talking about whatever is happening between them and not what has happened to them. Michaela stands up as quickly as she can without tripping over her own feet while telling her to maybe focus on the ones who can't get through a study session without causing a scene. It would've been a very dramatic and impressive storm out if she didn't forget that Laurel is the designated driver. She finds the guys to tell them to call a cab then walks out to the parking lot to find Michaela covering her tear streaks with make up. 

Laurel thinks about how many times she's watched her mother do the same thing and how many times she's watched her father watch her mother. 

“I'll take you home.”

Michaela sleeps on the couch with her arms wrapped tightly around the small pillow like it's a large person capable of squeezing her back, but in the morning it's puffed neatly in the center of Laurel's armchair. 

~*~  
Annalise continues to be the most demanding and merciless professor and boss she's ever had, but Laurel continues to surprise everyone with her ability to rise to the occasion when it matters the most. Michaela continues to exceed expectations, ace every other area of her life, and show up at Laurel's place in the middle of the night like they made some sort of standing appointment years before they met. 

“Bury me with this bottle.”

“Your casket is going to be mighty full if you keep this up.”

“Whatever. Are you going to invite me in?”

“I could be busy.”

“I could be a grizzly bear.” She laughs with her tongue sticking out between her teeth, dancing her chest forward until Laurel rolls her eyes.

“I, um, I want to kiss you right now. A lot. Still want to come inside?”

“Definitely.”

Her breath doesn't smell like alcohol and the kiss isn't sloppy and deep, it's a slow burn with calculated sensuality; it deepens the exact moment Michaela pulls away just far enough to push up Laurel's shirt with a tongue flick synchronized to the skin of their waists touching for the first time.

“You're not drunk.”

“Mm, stone sober.”

“What's in the bottle?”

“Lemon water, same as always.”

Laurel knows that to be a lawyer you've got to be a little broken because the job is mostly about manipulating the decisions of others for money and/or the greater good. She doesn't know if Michaela's motivation is money or the greater good, but she knows that they fit together perfectly in the dark. A hair falls between Michaela's eyes as she works her fingers between Laurel's legs and asks, 'More?' with a slight frown on her face until she gets it right and Laurel twists her head in search of something to bite down on to muffle her cries. Michaela abuses her knowledge of the other woman's form, shoving away blankets and pillows so that her moans are half laughter as Laurel gasps something about thin walls and polite neighbors. 

“I'll leave a post-it.”

Laurel comes with a grin on her face and her heart pounding furiously on her sleeve.

~*~  
Years later they'll run into each other. Michaela will have a ring on her finger and Laurel will have one on a chain around her neck. They'll touch hands, sip ginger ale and shout whisper about murder in an empty courtyard while people inside a banquet hall wait for them. Laurel will interlace their fingers and ask if they had any chance at all and Michaela will tell her that she gave her every chance in the world, but on graduation day Laurel saw their parents approaching and chose to shake her hand instead of kiss her. It'll feel like walls are coming down and progress is happening, but when she leans in Michaela will whisper in her ear,

“I'm not that easy.”

When Laurel gets home she'll find a business card in her coat pocket with Michaela's name on it and know it's stupid and pointless, but she'll make the call because maybe (hopefully, improbably, finally) they're getting somewhere.


End file.
